


Sheikh Zayn

by craicslave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craicslave/pseuds/craicslave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This sucks balls because Maryam forced me. It's ramadan and I'm going to spew venom on people. Don't talk to me about this one shot, I'm so sad I don't want to publish it but here you go...</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sheikh Zayn

**Author's Note:**

> This sucks balls because Maryam forced me. It's ramadan and I'm going to spew venom on people. Don't talk to me about this one shot, I'm so sad I don't want to publish it but here you go...

He was godlike, divine, almost glowing of God's grace. Zayn was one of many teenage boys that attended Haoza - where you studied to become a sheikh. Although invisible and quiet his presence oftentimes spoke for him, imposed on other people's space, made them feel small compared to him. But his kindness and dark chocolate eyes under the headpiece he wore to signify his title made people welcome the feeling he brought with him.  
Zayn and stepped out of the black cab that stood parked outside his parents house in Bradford. The large cloth he was draped in sank into the puddle of water outside the camp and he smiled. Rain was a gift from God, it fed the flowers owners had forgotten about, and it nurtured the newly hatched swallows. He tipped the driver and walked up the driveway he remembered from his childhood. Samosas were frying in the pan and his sisters were fussing over the decor of the plates. Their clamour and the smell of his favourite food radiated from the house and he knocked on the door. They were preparing for the first Iftar of Ramadan.  
He was welcomed by his less religious parents and sisters. Zayn lowered his eyes in sorrow for the path his family was walking but greeted them heartily. He walked in to the living room and was chocked by the crowd that had gathered in his parents house. Talking to people hadn't always been his best quality but he walked in lowering his gaze from the unveiled women and boasting men. He walked towards his father who stood with open arms which his son sunk into. Zayn hugged his father and received a pat to the cheek by the older mans large hand to which Zayn responded by grabbing and kissing. He kept the hand in his grasp and took off the ring that graced his fathers pointy finger. It is not allowed in Islam to wear a ring on the thumb and pointer, he thought for himself, and slid it on to his fathers empty ring finger. It was a little big but his father clenched his fist and nodded to his son. Zayn sat next to him, all the while directing his eyes to a non-fixed point on the carpet that would soon be hidden under plates of home cooked food.  
"Zayn, what do you say about marriage?" his auntie suddenly asked, silencing the continuous murmur in the background. They were all pushed to the walls, as if Zayn's presence was pushing their sinful auras away, but managed to creep a little closer to him. He lifted his eyes and directed them towards his seemingly anxious father.  
"My doings are doubled in the eyes of God if I am to be under a woman," he blubbered out. Most of the crowd tried to muffle their giggle and he turned a deep red realising he had misspoken. "Under the contract of marriage to a woman." His father coughed off a giggle and patted Zayn on the back.  
"Sometimes even a man likes to lie on his back," his father laughed out loud not being able to contain his laughter and his relatives exploded in laughter as well. Zayn shook off the tiredness that was creeping on him and excused himself to the bathroom for Wudhu.  
Pain and tiredness thumped in his temple and he climbed up the stairs and down the hall. He mistook the guest bedroom for the bathroom and walked in with a hand over his head not knowing where he had walked in. He turned towards the door, eyes still closed and turned the key in the lock.  
Behind him sat a veiled woman on the floor. Before her was a green book covered in gold patterns. He turned around and was momentarily bewildered by the unexpected sight. She wheezed in fright and got up. He put his hands up in front of his chest and apologised promising he did not know someone was in here. He tried unlocking the door but it seemed as if something was blocking the key from turning. He knocked harshly on the door and tried to pry the key out from the lock. The key was stuck and no one seemed to hear him this far away into the hallway.  
"I'm sorry, who are you?" The woman inquired her eyes on the Quran in front of her.  
"Zayn," he spoke softly and looked swiftly at her and averted his eyes quickly. He could not get the image of the face that stood before him and he turned his back to her. She was undeniably beautiful and dressed in a veil that reached down to her sock covered feet. His heart beat a little faster and he recited some sentences reminding him of God and his faith. His presence seemed minuscule compared to the woman behind him. She sat back down and said she would continue reading if he wouldn't mind, and he sat down on the other side of the room.  
The room was silent except for the tsk- and s-sounds she made reading. After she finished she walked to the door trying to open it to herself but came to the same conclusion Zayn had.  
"I have heard many things about you," she said and went to sit with her back to the wall opposite the one Zayn was next to.  
"All good?" He said cheekily, trying to impress her and bit his lip once he realised what his subconscious had tried to do. "I mean, I hope you have heard things that put me in your good grace, insha'Allah."  
"The opinions are split but all seem frightened," she said confidentially. "I guess all who walk the way of Haram are frightened when they are reminded of what God has ordered."  
"Who are you, sister?"  
"Do you not remember me, cousin?" She laughed and he allowed himself to look at her again. She looked different, her face more beautiful in a scarf, her skin glowing from her innocence and faith. He squinted his eyes and hit his back on the wall once he realised who she was.  
"Aaroosa?" He asked to which she nodded.  
"When..." He wanted to know when and how she had become religious but didn't know how to quite formulate it. She understood the meaning behind his blubber and answered him.  
"I realised the righteous path I must take when I saw the sun rising from the same corner and settling on the other side. It's mechanical, precise, scientifically accurate, whatever you want to call it. I realised that if God made this our Earth I do not want to miss out on what He has waiting for us in Paradise." Zayn was baffled by the response and the transformation of his cousin. He smiled in approval she was not seeking and wrapped the sheikh clothes tighter around him. The room was becoming hot and sweat ran down his forehead from under his headpiece. They sat in a quiet and he remembered the story of the sheikh that was stuck in a room with a princess whom he eventually married and wondered if that was his fate as well. Somehow he didn't mind the trail of thought his mind was leading. Aaroosa didn't mind the similar thought she was having either.  
Sheikh Zayn looked more than handsome. He was the definition of beauty for many and it made him more desirable when they found out his soul was pure. There was something magical about the thought of him not having sex before marriage, not destroying his olive skin with poisonous ink, nor having placed his lips on anyone other than his wife.


End file.
